18 – The Border

So narrow were the footpaths that they had no choice but to walk in single file, with Makhus in the front, Zelsys just behind him, Zefaris behind her and Sigmund at the very back. It only took a few dozen steps down the path before Makhus unsheathed his blade and began hacking away at the vegetation that stood in their way, carving a path through the greenery with inhumanly fast, precise cuts.

Five of the smaller and one of the larger seal-bottles dangled off the swordsman’s backpack, jingling against one another as the liquid within sloshed about from the motion of his swings.

“Why not store all the bottles?” she questioned, as much to get an answer as she did to break the silence.

“We’ll drink at least two of these during the hike, the cocksuckers at the checkpoint will confiscate the rest,” he answered resentfully, visibly channeling his anger into the next cleave, in which he caused a large branch to thunk to the ground. It was clear he had certain expectations of how the border crossing would go, ones rooted deeply in some sort of negative past experience. What that could be, Zelsys didn’t know - perhaps mere corruption among the border guards, or some petty discrimination based on superficial traits.

They walked as such for some time, the only sounds to keep them company being those of their footfalls, those of the trees, and those of Makhus’s impeccable bladesmanship being used to carve through weeds and saplings. Over the course of the trek, Zelsys felt her instinct going off every once in a while - each time the feeling came, she began to pay more attention to her surroundings, and each time without fail, she caught a double-pupiled eye staring from behind.

Each time, she did nothing to make it clear she had noticed - it didn’t bother her, if anything Zefaris’s gaze was a welcome distraction from the mind-numbing tedium of trekking through the woods. This phenomenon drew her attention to something far more concerning - despite the forest’s lushness and supernaturally fast growth, there were no birds. Not a sparrow, or an owl, or a woodpecker to be found anywhere.

Minutes turned to hours as they walked, a couple kilometers turned to tens, and the sun rose high into the sky as they made their way through the forest. Her appreciation of Makhus’s skill with a sword only grew every time he carved a path through a particularly nasty bramble. Wherever a large enough clearing could be found, they used the opportunity to take a break and pass around a bottle of Liquid Vigor.

One after another, they emptied three of the five smaller bottles. During the second of these small breaks, Zelsys took the time to slide the Tablet between her arm-cannon’s trigger lever and her forearm, tying it to her forearm with some of the loose bandages she had used to wrap her forearm previously. It was in part out of convenience, and in part because she wished to at least marginally conceal the weapon.

Eventually they came upon a rather well-defined footpath, following which led them to the edge of a large clearing amidst the trees. Makhus quickly sheathed his sword when the end of the footpath came into view, gesturing and hissing at Zelsys to, “C’mon, walk ahead. Try to seem nonthreatenin’.”

She put on a friendly smile and did as was asked, emerging into the clearing and approaching the checkpoint with her hands to her sides. The checkpoint was a small brick and mortar building with barred windows. It stood at the side of a gravel road that seemed to begin right at the border crossing, snaking off into the woods at the other side.

The border was outlined by a razor-wire topped chain-link fence, which stretched off in either direction and disappeared into greenery after only a few dozen meters. The crossing point itself had no gate or moving barrier, but was rather obstructed by gigantic caltrops - anti-vehicle barriers from the war.

Sure enough, the building’s door soon flew open and from within emerged a man wearing stereotypical Grekurian officer’s garb, officer’s cap and huge black and gold coat included. The coat seemed to hang rather heavily on his shoulders. His narrow, mustachioed face was pale, but not quite the snow-white pale of her compatriots, and he had truly impressive bags below his dark-brown eyes.

The man stared at Zelsys, reaching into his coat to pull out a pistol with a wide barrel and an orange gemstone at its back. Though he pointed it at her, his finger rested on the trigger-guard, and he didn’t seem particularly tense.

“Approach with your hands where I can see them!” he barked, squinting at her as if he was trying to see through her. As she approached, both his expression and posture lightened, his gaze repeatedly jumping between her lower stomach, her face, and her left arm. Her smile only grew.

“Are you alone?” he questioned.

“No, sir,” she said with no actual respect at all. “There are three others, two men and one woman.”

At that, he leaned over to look past her, and she was able to pinpoint the exact moment when he caught sight of her compatriots by the sudden stiffening of his features. Despite the fact she was far closer and had a visible weapon on her back, his gun snapped to aim at the three Ikesians, his index now hovering over the trigger. His face twisted into a snarl, filled with resentment and spite.

“We’re just scavengers, officer,” Makhus’s voice sounded from behind her. The officer cackled a disbelieving laugh, as if to mock the idea of trusting an Ikesian’s word.

“Really?! And you expect me to believe that when you’re carrying Ikesian military equipment? I’m no fool, Snow White. You don’t look like the posters, but that’s a pre-war uniform you’re wearing, minus the chest-plate.”

“I also have a pre-war saber,” Makhus rebuked, audibly fighting the urge to get into a shouting match with the officer. “There’s a hundred thousand more like it in the graveyard at the center of the E.Z.”

The officer’s eyes drifted over to Zelsys, then to two other people out of sight - Zefaris and Sigmund - before snapping back to Makhus.

“Fine,” he mocked, directing his spite towards the Ikesians. “We’ll see if you’re war criminals yet. Follow me, hands where I can see them.”